


your midas touch

by jamestkirk



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Inspired by Taylor Swift, M/M, Trans Male Character, this is really just porn and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamestkirk/pseuds/jamestkirk
Summary: Quentin had always been selfish. He could remember his mom hurling the word at him time and time again when he was a teenager-how can you be so selfish?At the time, the words had stung, but he’d come to realize she was right over the years. He was selfish and he couldn’t say no to Eliot, not when he still remembered the emptiness after he’d died, not when he still desperately wanted to reach out and remind himself that he wasalivenow.The night before Quentin goes on the boat quest, Eliot comes to his room.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 23
Kudos: 84
Collections: It Always Leads to You





	your midas touch

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by "champagne problems" by taylor swift because some lines from it really came for my ass. 
> 
> a couple quick things: i haven't published explicit fic in 8 years when i was like 14 so please be gentle lmao. more importantly, this fic features trans quentin because i believe in trans quentin with my entire heart and soul. in the fic, i use terms that some trans men might not be comfortable with, so please be careful and don't use those terms for every trans man without their permission (skip to the end notes if you want to check what they are). i'm trans myself btw so i did my best to be respectful but keep in mind that this is just how i personally write this stuff. also, things are 100% consensual in this fic but like. they're not exactly in the healthiest mindsets to be having sex. don't do what they're doing, it's a bad coping mechanism. also don't communicate like they're communicating. do as i say not as i do etc.
> 
> also, this fic does not end happily. it also presumes that they remember more about the mosaic than canon implies simply bc i do not vibe with that. maybe they forgot more as time went on idk frankly i'm just here to hurt. but if it helps, in the running canon that lives in my head rent free, this is only a blip in an otherwise happy ending bc quentin comes back.

_Love slipped beyond your reaches_

_And I couldn’t give a reason_

* * *

Whenever Quentin couldn’t sleep, he’d venture out in the cool night air to work on the Mosaic. Kneeling down on the tiles had gotten harder with age, but it gave his hands and mind something to do that wasn’t dwelling on whatever bullshit thoughts were keeping him up that night. On some of those nights, Eliot would come trailing out whenever he’d woken up and realized Quentin wasn’t still wrapped around his torso like a clingy koala and join him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders even when Quentin complained that he _wasn’t cold, why are you even awake, go back to sleep_. 

But this time there wasn’t a Mosaic to work on, the thoughts keeping him up weren’t worrying about getting the house ready for the grandkids or jarring peach jam for the trip into town in the morning, and Eliot definitely wasn’t going to be wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and staying up with him until the first rays of sunlight started peeking through. There were just the weirdly intricate patterns on the ceiling and Quentin wasn’t quite sure if they were supposed to be flowers or like, possibly yonic? 

He wasn’t even in his room, which was, to be fair, way too ridiculously spacious and lavious for his tastes. He’d always felt uncomfortable in there- the bed itself was big enough to fit at least five people comfortably and he was pretty sure he’d never seen more gold anywhere in his life. Growing up teetering solidly on the line between lower and middle class had made sure he never got a good night’s sleep in there, the space almost suffocating him at times. But he honestly would’ve preferred it to the room he was in now, tucked away in the far reaches of Whitespire. 

It’d belonged to one of the oldest palace guards, apparently, and he didn’t really want to think about why it was empty now or where they’d gotten the uniform that was laying on the chair next to the bed. The thing about the room was that it was _small_. Only enough space for the aforementioned chair, the bed only big enough for two people if you _really_ set your heart on it, and an old teetering dresser with an oil lamp standing proud. There was a tiny window looking out at some trees, but that was about it. It felt too _familiar_. The bed was smaller and there weren’t any child’s drawings tacked up to the walls, but it was enough to form an unpleasant little knot in the center of his chest. 

No, that was a lie. The knot had been there for two days now and it wasn’t so much a _knot_ as it was a gnawing, aching mass that felt like it was going to crawl its way up his throat and choke the air right out of his lungs. It’d been there since Eliot had looked at him and neatly and succinctly unraveled a lifetime of loving each other like he was politely turning down a dinner invitation and he was pretty sure it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. 

The thing was- the thing _was_. He _knew_ Eliot had loved him- knew it like he knew the rhythm of his own anxious heartbeat. It was written in the way his eyes had always softened when he looked at Quentin, the way he’d always had to _touch_ him, whether it was a hand trailing over his shoulder or a kiss dropped to the top of his head, and in fifty years of memories that were still trickling in and giving Quentin one hell of a migraine. It was just that- when had he _stopped_? There must have been a point, some little fuck up of Quentin’s that sent it all downhill. And Quentin hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his own bullshit to even- _God_. What had he _missed_? 

The sheets were scratchy on Quentin’s skin, the crickets chirping outside a deafening roar, and the pounding in his head was just getting worse. Everything was too _much_. With no small amount of effort, he raised his arms to press the heels of his hands against his eyes until a firework display of stars lit off behind them. 

_Fuck_. 

He released the pressure on his eyes, the ringing in his ears subsiding somewhat. But the air was still too sticky-hot on his skin and the walls were still too close. He hated getting like this. When every sound and feeling and sight was like an assault on his senses, compounding and making his heart race in his chest while he waited for it to just _stop_. It hadn’t exactly _disappeared_ in his other life, but then he’d had- 

It didn’t matter what he’d had then. He just had himself now, like he’d always had, and that’d just have to be- fucking fine. 

If he could just- 

A hesitant, quick knock came from the small, rickety door some feet away. Despite its softness, it seemed to echo around the room and come to rest at the pit of Quentin’s stomach. He knew that knock- the same one Eliot had used that time when Teddy was fifteen and mad at the world but _especially_ mad at his father. 

For a moment, the world held its breath as his eyes snapped towards the door. Fabric rustled on the other side as Eliot must’ve been shifting his weight. There was the temptation, a strong one, to pretend to be asleep and let Eliot leave. Quentin was leaving in the morning for the next quest and that would be that. When he came back, he’d be invigorated from the journey and maybe by then these stupid, muddled up feelings would have sorted themselves out into something that could stand being _friends_ with Eliot again. It was probably the smartest choice. The right choice. The not-so-selfish choice. 

The other, smaller, far more self serving part of his heart wanted to let Eliot in and take comfort in his presence like he had even before the time quest. 

“Q, I know you’re awake.” 

Well. There went that. Of course Eliot would _know_. He was married to him for that long, it wasn’t like he’d just forget how much overthinking he did. Quentin sighed, pulling the too-hot blanket up to his chin like a heavy shield made out of incredibly scratchy wool. 

“Yeah- come in,” he called after a tense moment, choice made, regarding the door warily like it might come off its hinges and bite him in the ass. 

There was a beat of silence before the door creaked open, Eliot poking his head through before stepping in the rest of the way through and closing it quietly behind him. The darkness of the room did nothing to dim the brightness of Eliot’s presence- gorgeous and regal and _brilliant_. Quentin sucked in a sharp breath. Their eyes met across the short distance before Eliot’s flicked away to some unknown corner of the room. 

“Um. Hey.” 

It was so rare to see Eliot nervous or awkward in this life. It made Quentin’s lips pull into a small frown. 

“Hey?” he prompted, which was another, less inflammatory way of asking _hey, why are you in my room at like two in the morning after dumping me_? 

Eliot’s eyes slid back to Quentin, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt at cool aloofness. “Did you know the insulation in this castle was mostly magic?” When Quentin simply stared at him, he nodded. “Mmhm, yep, just- spells holding the whole place together like duct tape. I mean, I guess we should’ve realized- it’s not like stone is exactly the warmest of materials-” 

Quentin wasn’t sure what he was rambling about and it must’ve shown on his face as he opened his mouth to ask what he wanted and Eliot cut him off. “It’s cold. In my room. And I had- _way_ too many glasses of god awful carrot wine to even hope to get any sleep right now. Margo would probably have my head on a diamond platter if I interrupted her beauty sleep after the day she’s had and I don’t think Tick’s the midnight hang-out type, so I- figured I’d stop by. Say… hey. So. Hey.” 

_Bullshit_. 

Quentin had to bite down on his lip to keep that exact phrase from slipping out of his mouth, making a quiet _mmhm_ sort of sound instead. “So you want to- hang out?” he asked, brow knitting. “Right now? I have- Eliot, I have a quest I’m supposed to be going on in, like, four hours, I’m not really sure…” 

“Can we just- look, I won’t even talk, hm? You can sleep and I can just…” Eliot trailed off as he glanced around the room and realized there wasn’t really anything to _do_. He looked- lost, hands fidgeting by his sides like he wanted to do something with them but wasn’t quite sure what. It’d be so easy to tell him to leave. Definitely easier than letting him stay. But- 

Quentin had always been selfish. He could remember his mom hurling the word at him time and time again when he was a teenager- _how can you be so selfish?_ At the time, the words had stung, but he’d come to realize she was right over the years. He was selfish and he couldn’t say no to Eliot, not when he still remembered the emptiness after he’d died, not when he still desperately wanted to reach out and remind himself that he was _alive_ now. 

He shifted, moving towards the side of the bed until he was pressed up against the wall, leaving enough room for Eliot. Well, hopefully. The man was kind of a tree, but if he wanted to stay, he’d just have to make it work. 

Eliot hesitated a moment. Quentin could just imagine what was going through his head. He was probably wondering if Quentin was going to make a move on him again. The thought sent a sharp pang through his chest. There was a time where Eliot would’ve climbed in next to him like it was the easiest thing in the world, would’ve pressed a kiss to his shoulder before settling down for the night. 

Finally, Eliot moved across the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. Quentin rolled his eyes. “You can lay down, you know. It’s not like- I’m not going to, like, bite you.” 

“Like I’d complain if you did,” Eliot responded easily, the same way he used to joke with him before this whole fucking mess, like it was the same thing, like the words wouldn’t make Quentin’s stomach flip over in some _pretty goddamn hurt_ butterflies. Still, Eliot laid down, seeming to relax once he did, tugging the blanket over himself and wrinkling his nose as he presumably felt how hot and itchy the thing was. “Ugh, is this seriously what we’re giving the guards to sleep with? Jesus, I’m surprised they haven’t started an uprising already.” He was looking around the room, clearly displeased by their surroundings. Quentin watched for any flicker of the recognition he’d had, but there was none that he could see. 

Quentin hummed in response, barely registering what it was Eliot was talking about, his breath stilled somewhere in his chest. He could feel Eliot’s presence in every atom of his body- the close press of his thigh, the way their arms brushed together whenever Eliot shifted, the warmth bleeding off of him and seeping into Quentin of its own accord, wrapping around his heart and webbing out with every beat. He consciously took a breath, willing himself to let it out slowly before he scooted down the bed to lay down fully, glancing at Eliot before looking away again quickly, brows knitting slightly. 

The silence was thick and awkward in a way it hadn’t been in a long time, even by the standards of this timeline. The last conversation they’d had was objectively _fine_. Hell, Eliot had been as nice as he could possibly be given the circumstances. But he’d been cruel in that casual, flippant way Eliot always managed to be when he wasn’t thinking. 

_Go be life partners with someone else for a little bit_. God, what an asshole. 

No, that wasn’t fair. It’s not like he could blame Eliot for just- _not wanting him_. That was some peak _Nice Guy_ shit and Quentin refused to be the Ross of the friend group. It still didn’t help him feel any better. A long time ago, he couldn’t really remember when, it’d come up. Quentin had gotten way too in his head over some stupid shit that didn’t even matter enough to stick and he’d gone into one of his spirals that lasted a good week before he finally spit out what was eating at his thoughts. He’d asked Eliot what was going to happen when they got back to Earth. _If_ they got back to Earth. He hadn’t really gotten what Quentin was trying to ask at first, but when he’d gotten out a watery question- _‘I just- would you choose me? If you actually had, like, options, would you still choose me?’_ \- Eliot had cupped his face gently and told him there’s no way he couldn’t love him, in this timeline or any other one. Then he’d kissed his forehead so fucking gently, brushing his thumb over his cheek, and told him to stop thinking so hard because he was already getting cute little wrinkles between his eyebrows. 

And, like, people changed their minds all the time, right? It should’ve been fine. Quentin should’ve been _fine_. Except- it kind of seemed purposeful, the way Eliot had said it. He knew how much it had scared Quentin that Eliot wouldn’t choose him out in the real world and he’d said it anyway. Unless he _didn’t_ remember. Who knew how this shit worked? Quentin still couldn’t remember half of Teddy’s birthdays or their second granddaughter’s name (which- he kind of felt like shit about that one). 

Next to him, Eliot shifted on the bed to roll towards him, propping his chin up on his hand and jostling Quentin out of his too-loud thoughts. He had no idea how long he’d been lost in them- two minutes or an hour, either would be just as good a guess. His eyes slid towards Eliot, breath catching on the way the moonlight spilled over his curls and the curve of his jaw. If one thing hadn’t changed, it was just how beautiful this infuriating man was. Eliot opened his mouth, clicking it shut after a moment before he tried again. For some reason, nerves clenched in Quentin’s gut. 

“So, Q… I was thinking.” That was never a good start to any conversation. “Is this still really fucking weird for you too?” 

Quentin blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Eliot to want to talk about this for at least another eternity, and probably not even after that. “Um,” he answered. Like an asshole. 

Eliot was still looking at him and Quentin couldn’t decipher what emotion he was feeling. The direct gaze made him uncomfortable- something he was used to with everyone else, but rarely Eliot. “I mean, _fifty years_ of emotions... that’s a bit much for anyone. I’m willing to bet even our impenetrable Penny would be feeling out of sorts right about now.” 

Quentin swallowed around the lump in his throat, his nerves buzzing under his skin and making his stomach turn. “Right. Um- I’m not really sure what you’re trying to say-” _Stupid_ , always so stupid, he could never just _get_ what people were saying like everyone else seemed to be able to do. 

Eliot took a breath, something flickering behind his eyes that finally looked just as unsure as Quentin felt. “I’m saying… Why not get it out of our systems? Get out the pent up whatever the fuck this is and move on with our lives. Easy.” His tone aimed for casual, but the words lodged a stone in the pit of Quentin’s stomach. _Easy_. Of course this was all _easy_ for Eliot. Just another magic fuck-up that they could fix and move on from in a week. He never dwelled on shit, not like Quentin. 

The direct eye contact was getting to be a little much, so Quentin looked away, staring at those stupid flowers on the ceiling again. “I- are you asking me if I want to fuck you right now?” he asked, a small frown tugging at his lips. His arms were crossed over his stomach under the blanket, twisting a string of fabric from his shirt between his fingers nervously. 

In the dark silence, Quentin could hear Eliot swallow. “Why not?” Eliot was flippant, fabric of his nightshirt rustling as he shrugged one shoulder, probably in that perfectly elegant and effortless way of his. 

Quentin let out an incredulous huff of breath. “I can think of, like, at least fifty reasons.” 

“We’ve had sex before, Q,” Eliot reminded him. “The world didn’t end then.” Of course, he was talking about the time with Margo, not the thousands of times they loved each other in Fillory of the past. 

“Uh, yeah, but it still ended pretty shitty.” 

“You’re not with Alice anymore. You’re a free man. And Fen- well, we’ve come to an understanding about this sort of thing, and with magic gone, I’m not going to spontaneously burst into flame if I touch another man’s dick anymore.” 

Quentin paused, looking over at him again. “Wait, is that seriously what would’ve happened?” Eliot shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to answer. Quentin took a breath, swiping his tongue out over his lips. If he didn’t know any better, he was pretty sure Eliot tracked the movement, something in his eyes darkening just slightly in a painfully familiar way. Shamefully, it made heat rush to the pit of his stomach, coiled and waiting and _wanting_. 

They shouldn’t. If there was one thing they absolutely shouldn’t do, it was have sex right now. Quentin knew himself well enough to know how much of a fucking disaster that would be, how badly that would eat him up inside until there was nothing left but unwashed hair and dark circles under his eyes because he hadn’t slept right in a month and he’d forgotten to eat more than a sleeve of crackers or a bowl of dry cereal a day. No matter how badly he wanted it, no matter how the smell of Eliot’s cologne was making him fucking dizzy, he knew he should say _sorry, no thanks, I just don’t feel like it_. And he knew Eliot would listen. Would let it go without another word of argument and probably stay the night anyway because he was a good friend, one of Quentin’s best friends. 

But Quentin had always been selfish. 

“Just to get it out of our systems,” he confirmed, biting down on his lip a moment and trying to calm the racing in his chest. “This one time- and that’s _it_.” 

“Exactly. That’s all it has to be. Just some fun- a way to blow off a bit of steam before you have to go off on your little boat adventure and I get back to making sure Fillory doesn’t blow itself up spectacularly.” 

Right. Fun. It would be- _so_ fun. That’s all it had to be. It didn’t have to mean earth shattering sex and declarations of undying love or whatever the fuck Quentin was starting to build up in his head. Despite what nearly everything about his person would suggest, Quentin _had_ had casual sex before. Not even counting those first few months at the Mosaic after their one year, there’d been a few times in college that were definitely just- fun. And he’d been pretty okay at that. This being Eliot didn’t change anything. 

Quentin swallowed. “...yeah, okay.” Eliot blinked, like that wasn’t the answer he expected. Like he thought Quentin could ever say _no_ to him. Once again, Eliot opened his mouth and then shut it again, nodding. 

“There’s my Q,” he finally said, grinning that boyish grin of his that made Quentin weak at the knees. God, he loved him so much. 

There was a beat of silence, awkward in its expectation. Quentin cleared his throat, untucking his arms from around his stomach and shifting to his side to face Eliot, meeting those stupid hazel eyes with a flutter of nerves. “So, um-” 

Whatever embarrassing thing he was about to say was cut off by Eliot’s lips on his own and a large, firm hand brought to the back of his neck, curling around the hair at the nape and pulling him closer. It did nothing to stop the embarrassing _noise_ that made its way out of him, immediately melting into the embrace as he let his eyes slip closed and kissed back with every ounce of what he’d been feeling these past days. Eliot gasped against his mouth, his hand tightening on Quentin’s neck as he pressed closer until they were pressed flush together, sliding his tongue along the seam of Quentin’s lips. 

Pushing down any hesitance, Quentin reached up to settle his own hand on Eliot’s chest, letting his mouth fall open so Eliot could deepen the kiss. There was a desperation there, one mirrored in his own actions, but he didn’t let himself think about what that meant. That was the point of this. In one careful but swift move, Eliot slid his knee between Quentin’s thighs, making his breath hitch as Eliot sucked lightly on his tongue. He pulled back enough to nip lightly at Quentin’s lip before he started kissing down the line of his jaw, lips catching over the stubble there. 

Everything about it was achingly familiar. Every shift of Eliot’s body against his, every drag of his lips, every press of his hand- all were reflected across time and as known to Quentin as his own breath. As Eliot’s free hand slid down to his waist to drag his hips closer until Quentin was rocking against his thigh, a stone lodged itself in his throat, a sharp and insistent burning behind his eyes. He ignored it, letting out a quiet whine as he pressed down against Eliot, seeking friction that was dulled far too much by the layers of clothing between them. 

The slowly building heat was interrupted by Eliot pulling away. “Ah- I don’t have any condoms.” He sounded regretful. “Of course, we can get creative, sex doesn’t have to be about that, but I thought I’d warn you. With magic gone…” 

Quentin huffed a small breath, almost amused and half impatient. “It’s- fine. I got on the pill when magic went to shit. Plus, I mean, chances are already pretty low, so- Whatever you want to do is, uh, fine.” He could laugh at the relief that washed over Eliot. Yeah, sure, they could get creative, but they both knew how much they loved when Eliot fucked him. 

Eliot nodded, leaning in to kiss at his neck again. “Ah, good. That’s- good.” The way he was trying to hide his excitement made Quentin’s lips pull into a small, fond smile. God, he’d missed him. And then Eliot was sucking a small mark against his shoulder and the stillness of the moment was gone, the desperation flooding back into every point of contact between them as Quentin arched into him. 

The hand on his waist moved, sliding under his shirt and splaying out across his stomach. The touch had Quentin’s hips rocking, grinding down against Eliot’s thigh with a soft, keening sound. Eliot’s fingers twitched, nosing up under Quentin’s jaw until they were face to face. “Can I, baby?” His voice was low and quiet, soft in a way that made Quentin’s heart slam to a halt against his rib cage. Eliot moved his hand from the back of his neck to his face instead, brushing his thumb over Quentin’s cheekbone with such an earnest look Quentin almost forgot where he was. In that moment, Eliot was everything he’d ever been to him. The stunning and untouchable upperclassman at Brakebills, his best friend, his High King, the love of his life. 

He realized he hadn’t actually answered yet. “Fuck, yes, please,” he breathed out, surging to catch Eliot’s lips in another kiss, his fingers curling in the fabric of Eliot’s shirt. Gently, Eliot pushed at his hip until he got the hint and untangled his legs from Eliot’s, letting out a quiet noise at the loss of the sturdy pressure between his thighs. But nearly as soon as it was gone, Eliot’s fingers were tugging at the band of his sleep pants. They were old, worn out things, ones he’d brought along on one of his trips from Earth back when he was staying here more often. When he’d grabbed a few things out of his old quarters, he’d taken them too, needing some sort of comfort in all this. 

He couldn’t give a shit about the pants when Eliot tugged them down his thighs along with his boxers, reaching down to lightly brush his thumb over Quentin’s clit before sliding a finger inside him, making Quentin’s breath catch and his eyes close. The sensation wasn’t much yet, only a promise of something more, but just knowing it was _Eliot_ , Eliot still willing to touch him like this- it made his head spin. Eliot’s lips were back at his jaw, his hand still cupping his face while he kissed up to the shell of his ear. “You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, breath warm against Quentin’s skin and sending a shiver down his spine. 

Quentin didn’t have an answer for him. He wasn’t really sure he was supposed to have one. All he could do was turn his head, reaching up to tangle one hand in Eliot’s curls and pull him into another kiss while he rocked his hips up to take him deeper, gasping into the kiss when Eliot curled his finger and finally started _moving_. He kissed Eliot like he was his sole source of oxygen, kissing him like he knew Eliot loved to be kissed, drawing out little hitched breaths and sighs from those stupidly soft lips. After a moment, a second finger joined the first and Eliot’s thumb found his clit again, rubbing in small circles while sparks burst behind Quentin’s eyes. He hitched his leg over Eliot’s, a bit of an awkward angle with the way his pants were still gathered around his thighs, but he didn’t care, he needed _closer_. The movement pressed Eliot’s fingers inside him just right, his breath hitching on a moan. He ducked his head to bury it against Eliot’s throat, panting lightly. 

“I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled into Eliot’s neck, the skin growing damp and warm with his breath. Eliot’s movements paused a moment, fingers curled in a way that had Quentin’s hips jerking anyway, grip in his curls tightening a bit while he waited for Eliot to start moving again. 

“Of course,” he finally answered, in that detached sort of way, that voice that he put on to impress other people and convince them of his effortless aloofness, light and airy. He curled his finger under Quentin’s jaw, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “But first, let me take care of you, hm? I can-” he kissed Quentin again, “-take you apart-” and again, “-just like this-” and again, “-until you’re _begging_ me, baby.” 

Quentin’s breath hitched, but he shook his head. “No- no, I want you to fuck me now.” 

For a moment, he saw a flash of something in Eliot’s eyes, saw his lips twitch down into a small frown, but it was gone as soon as it had ever been there. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked cautiously. “We should probably take more time-” His gaze was painfully earnest and Quentin couldn’t take it. 

“I think I know what I want, Eliot,” he snapped, hurt coiling in his chest. It wasn’t just about the question and they both knew it. He’d slipped up, bringing _feelings_ into this thing that was supposed to be about getting over them. He willed himself to let out a breath, letting the hurt uncoil. Later. He’d deal with it later. Not when Eliot was so close, when he was letting him have this one last time by some fucking miracle. “I’ll- tell you to stop if it hurts, alright?” he assured him, quiet and conceding. Even with everything, he knew Eliot wouldn’t ever want to hurt him. Not on purpose and not with this. 

For a moment, he was afraid Eliot would put a stop to this and tell him Quentin wasn’t in any place to be doing this, which- fuck you, he absolutely was. He was _fine_. But after a moment, Eliot nodded before his lips split into a small grin. “Look at you, little Q all demanding and so _cute_ about it.” 

That only made Quentin scowl, but evidently Eliot just found it endearing, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. But he pulled his fingers from Quentin’s cunt, grin twitching up when he whined at the loss. He patted Quentin’s thigh. “Here, be a good boy and take these off while I get undressed, hm?” 

There was a conversation they should be having, one they would be having in any normal circumstance. But it was a conversation they’d had decades ago, boundaries they’d set so long ago that going over them wouldn’t cross either of their minds. And as much as Eliot didn’t want to _talk about that_ , Quentin knew he could trust him in this completely. 

As Eliot folded the blanket over and stood up to undress, the sudden loss made the lump in Quentin’s throat that hadn’t exactly gone away that much more apparent again. He allowed himself a moment to admire Eliot in the moonlight, the way the muscles of his back moved as he stripped his shirt off. But he’d given him a direction, so he kicked the blanket the rest of the way off the bed and tugged his pants and boxers off, tossing them on the floor with the blanket. His shirt joined the pile shortly after, leaving him awkward and naked on the bed. No matter many times he’d done this, there was always a moment when sex felt a little mortifying to him, that vulnerability making him shrink. That feeling wasn’t so pronounced with Eliot, but something uncomfortable flipped in his chest when he glanced at him and found Eliot looking at him, that unreadable look in his eyes again. He flushed under the gaze, trailing his own over Eliot’s body. God, he was always so beautiful. Like a fucking marble statue. 

Well, okay, not exactly like a marble statue. His cock was already half hard, cut and curved just slightly, and fucking _gorgeous_. Quentin had always had a bit of a _thing_ about sucking cock, but Eliot’s was another story all together. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and take him in his mouth and let Eliot take his pleasure from him, drown out all those loud thoughts in his head. But that wasn’t the plan and it was- too much. It was too intimate in a way that he didn’t want to look at. 

Instead, he sat up on his knees, reaching to pull him in by his waist, Eliot still having to bend down to kiss him. Fucking tree. Eliot sighed against his mouth, reaching up to cradle the back of his neck again as he kissed him, climbing back into the bed. He kissed Quentin down into the mattress, knee pushing between his thighs to spread them. Quentin knew how this would go, one of the many scripts they’d written over the years. Eliot would kiss him until he got his legs wrapped around his hips, he’d whisper sweet nothings and soft praises while he pressed inside him, and they’d make love like that, pressed close and loving each other. 

Quentin didn’t want that. He pushed lightly at Eliot’s chest, watching his brows crumple slightly in confusion. “Like this,” he mumbled, continuing to push at Eliot’s chest until he got the hint and moved off of him. Once he was out of the way, Quentin turned around, bracing himself on his knees and forearms with his head hung slightly, hair cascading down over his face and blocking his line of vision. He didn’t look back at Eliot, not sure what he’d find there and not wanting to acknowledge the knot in the center of his chest. 

A warm hand settled on his hip, too gentle and full of a reassurance Quentin didn’t want. Eliot’s thumb rubbed small circles against his hipbone as he bent down to kiss his shoulder, focused on what Quentin knew was a freckle even though he’d never seen it himself. ( _‘Did you know you have freckles on your back? This one’s my favorite.’_ ) “Are you sure-” 

“Eliot, I swear to god, if you ask me if I’m sure about what I want _one more time_ -” 

The hand on his hip tensed, the man behind him letting out a slow breath before he kissed his shoulder again, this time mouthing up to his neck and biting down a little. “Watch it,” he murmured, slipping back into the role that Quentin could deal with right now. Something about it settled wrong, but none of this was going to be _right_. The last time they’d done this, they’d been in love. 

While still kissing and nipping at his shoulders, Eliot’s hand slid to sink two fingers back into him, making Quentin gasp and drop his head down further, pushing his hips back. Eliot was moving faster now, an extra precaution Quentin didn’t ask for but silently appreciated anyway. When he was rocking back against his fingers and letting out quiet moans, Eliot added a third, twisting them the way he knew would make Quentin’s world tilt on its axis, his eyes slamming shut as his forehead pressed down against the pillow. It was scratchy, full of feathers that would have him sneezing in the morning, but it felt good then, cool against his heated skin. 

It only lasted a minute at most before Eliot was pulling away again, sitting up and the warmth receding from where he’d been draped over his back. “Ready?” 

Quentin nodded against the pillow, fingers finding purchase in the sheets as he dug his nails in, heart hammering in his chest. This was fine. He wanted this. He wanted Eliot. More than anything else in the whole fucking universe. But- this wasn’t about that. It wasn’t. Eliot was going to fuck him and he’d get over this stupid heartbreak that he hadn’t even earned. “C’mon, El. _Fuck me_.” 

Behind him, Eliot made a small, hopeless sound that made something go tight behind his ribcage. That was all the encouragement Eliot needed, bracing his hand on Quentin’s hip as he guided his cock inside him. Quentin shifted, turning his face against the pillow with a moan while Eliot slowly pressed deeper. The world narrowed down to just the two of them, to the press of Eliot’s cock inside him. He could hear his stilted breathing, surrounded by his scent, the hand on his hip burning into his skin. For a moment, his thoughts were blissful static. 

Once their hips were pressed flush together, Eliot stilled a moment, rubbing his hand down Quentin’s hip soothingly, leaning back down to kiss at the back of his neck. “Fuck- you feel so good, sweetheart,” he breathed, the endearment cutting through the static and stinging like a cut. It was nothing. Quentin knew he used endearments during sex. Hell, he’d used them that first time they’d slept together with Margo. It didn’t mean anything. “Always so good for me, Q.” 

Something burned behind Quentin’s eyes, burying his face further in the pillow. His fingers tightened in the sheets, knuckles turning white before he forced himself to breathe out and relax. “Move.” His voice was muffled, but quietly demanding. Eliot used to call him a brat, playful and loving, usually with a light little smack to his ass and a grin. Right now, he just wanted Eliot to make him stop _thinking_. 

If Eliot was going to say anything, he changed his mind, tightening his grip on his hip before he started to fuck him, knocking the wind out of Quentin’s lungs as he pulled nearly all the way out before rocking back into him again. The stretch burned- he felt full, static returning as a pleasant buzz that filled his head and left him with nothing but _feeling_. He paused a moment, but Quentin pushed back against him, fucking himself back on his cock and drawing a surprised groan from Eliot’s lips. He quickly met the pace, shifting on his knees to get a better angle that made Quentin whine. 

Time didn’t exist, just the rough push and pull of Eliot inside him, the sheets bunched in his hands and heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. He’d feel this tomorrow, the burn between his legs and dull ache in his stomach that would remind him this had been _real_. At some point, Eliot wrapped an arm around Quentin’s chest, pulling him back against his chest so they were both sitting up. The change in angle made Quentin gasp, going limp against him as his head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, bringing his arm up behind him to tangle his fingers in Eliot’s hair. He was held against his chest, Eliot’s arm tight around him while he fucked him in deep, even thrusts that made Quentin’s toes curl. 

Eliot was talking, murmuring low and hot in his ear. There was too much static in Quentin’s head to pay attention to it, words clipping in and out- _baby, so good, missed you, so pretty, just like that, good, good_. Eliot’s hand moved to rest on his stomach, kissing behind Quentin’s ear. “Fuck, baby-” he moaned, burying his face against Quentin’s hair. 

With some concentration to bring himself back enough to move, Quentin moved the hand not holding onto Eliot to slide his clit between two of his fingers, groaning as his hips rocked up into his own touch, mouth dropped open. With one hand still resting on his stomach, Eliot reached down to smack away Quentin’s hand, replacing it with his own, rougher fingers. His time dedicated to improving himself couldn’t hide the years of farmwork he’d grown up with, hands calloused and _so fucking good_ when they did this. 

It didn’t take long for the pressure to build in Quentin’s stomach, desperate and insistent as he fucked himself back on Eliot and into the slide of his fingers. “I’m- close, El-” he gasped, pulling on Eliot’s hair until he bent to kiss him, open mouthed and breathless. At the declaration, Eliot focused his attention on his clit, rocking up into him slow while he took him apart. 

“Ah- I’ve got you, Quentin, come for me, sweetheart-” Eliot moved to kiss at his shoulder instead, finding the bruise he’d left earlier and biting down lightly while he fucked into him particularly hard. That was all it took, pushing Quentin over the edge with a whine of Eliot’s name, hand tightening in his hair tight enough to probably be painful. Eliot fucked him through it, pace slowing as he dragged it out, moving his hand from Quentin’s clit to rest on his hip instead, holding him close. “That’s it,” he murmured, every point of contact burning as Quentin rocked against him, chasing after that high. 

The static started to fade, only a dull roar as he tried to catch his breath, melting back against Eliot’s embrace. With a slightly trembling hand, Eliot reached up to brush his hair from his eyes, kissing at the underside of his jaw with an affection that Quentin didn’t deserve. “Good?” Eliot breathed, checking in. Quentin nodded, unable to find words, just nuzzling against Eliot’s hair while he still rocked up into him, slower now. “Can I-” 

“Anything,” Quentin promised in a heartbeat, not caring what the next words out of his mouth were going to be. A breath left Eliot’s lungs, like he was overcome with some emotion. Like this meant anything to him. 

“Back on your knees,” he instructed, letting Quentin drop his arm and move, guiding him back down onto the bed. He shifted, readjusting his stance to better suit what they were going to do, another one of their scripts. With a harmless but firm touch, Eliot’s hand found the spot between his shoulder blades, pressing him down against the mattress just light enough that Quentin got the idea but not hard enough to actually be any threat. After a moment’s pause, Eliot started to fuck him again, a little more erratic now, desperation in every movement. It felt so fucking good, his head still light and dizzy and every inch of him still sensitive, every drag of Eliot’s cock lighting along his spine. “That’s it, good boy-” Eliot gasped, holding him in place as he fucked into him, chasing his own release. 

It didn’t last long like that, Eliot’s grip on him tightening as he came, hips stuttering as Eliot swore. Quentin could picture exactly what he looked like, his head tossed back and his curls falling in his eyes, the way his lips parted. He’d seen it a million times. He didn’t need to now, but the images in his memories still made him breathless. Eliot stilled, breath coming in ragged pants before he pulled out, drawing out a quiet sound from Quentin. 

After a moment, he moved his hand from between Quentin’s shoulders, removing all points of contact as he rolled onto his back next to him, catching his breath. For a moment, Quentin stayed where he was, face pressed against the stupid feathery pillow and his knees starting to ache. He scrunched his face up a bit at the feeling of Eliot’s come trickling down the inside of his thigh. He hadn’t even thought of how he was supposed to clean up. There weren’t any rags, or baths and- 

“Come here.” Eliot’s voice was quiet, still breathy and not quite recovered. Quentin shifted to lay on his stomach instead of holding himself on his knees like an idiot, turning his head towards Eliot with a little knit in his brow. Eliot caught his gaze, sighing at the look, extending his arm in clear invitation. “Aftercare, Q. Most important part.” He gave him a small smile, almost tentative. Quentin would rarely describe Eliot as _tentative_. 

He regarded him a moment, the ache in his chest returning like it’d never left and expanding until it hurt to breathe. But he knew Eliot wouldn’t drop it and a part of him knew he needed it, so he scooted over, letting Eliot wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull him against his chest. After some hesitation, Quentin ducked his head to burrow his face into his chest, nuzzling against Eliot’s chest hair. He’d always loved Eliot’s chest hair and always told him as much. The burning returned behind his eyes, so he shut them tight, his arms coming to wrap around himself while Eliot petted a hand through his hair. 

“That was good.” Eliot sounded far too cheery. Good. Quentin knew he was being an asshole, knew Eliot was just trying to offer reassurance and praise, but it _stung_. It was the sort of thing he’d say to one night stands, a far cry from the gentle touches and whispered _I love yous_ he used to give. The stone in Quentin’s throat grew. “Are you- okay?” he asked after a minute, quieter now, more somber. 

Quentin huffed a quiet laugh, watery. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from the tone, but he hoped Eliot didn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t say anything, going quiet above him as Quentin hid in his chest. Like a coward, too afraid to even face a night alone without him. 

The minutes ticked by in silence, interrupted only by their breathing and the sound of crickets outside. Eliot’s hand was still carding through his hair, his other hand drawing light patterns against his hip. The touches were right, but none of this was how it was supposed to be. Quentin sniffed, biting down on his lip as the dam behind his eyes broke and hot tears finally spilled down his cheeks. He buried his face further against Eliot’s chest, hoping to any god that would listen that Eliot didn’t notice that either. By the way Eliot’s hand stilled and he pulled him closer, the gods weren’t listening. He could practically _hear_ his frown. 

Before he could stop himself, Quentin’s stupid mouth was opening. “What happened, El?” His voice was broken glass, wavering and choked. There was no way Eliot didn’t know what he meant. _What happened to us? What did I do wrong?_

Eliot sucked in a sharp breath, the hand on his hip tightening into a hold. It took him so long to answer that for a moment, Quentin thought he was going to pretend he hadn’t said a word. But, then- “I don’t know, Q.” His voice was deathly quiet, barely above a whisper. 

It wasn’t the answer Quentin wanted. He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe some dramatic rant about everything he’d done wrong, maybe some flippant dismissal, or if the universe were kind maybe an admission that he’d been wrong to let them go. Somehow, this was worse than any of them. He choked back a noise, hugging himself tighter. Eliot just pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and taking a shaky breath. If Quentin didn’t know any better, he’d say Eliot was trembling. 

“Get some sleep,” Eliot mumbled into his hair, kissing the top of his head again. Excessive. Nervous. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow.” 

Quentin didn’t say anything. He barely noticed when Eliot moved to retrieve the blanket from the floor, wrapping it around the both of them before he pulled Quentin close again. He felt numb, he felt everything, he felt way too heavy, he felt light as air. 

Tomorrow would be another day. He’d get some fresh sea air, maybe even start to feel better and forget the last shitty forty-eight hours. 

He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion drag him down and away to the steady sound of Eliot’s familiar heartbeat. 

**Author's Note:**

> words used for quentin's genitals include "clit" a few times and "cunt" once. 
> 
> other than champagne problems, i played bizarre love triangle by new order a concerning number of times while writing this so that's part of the Vibes too. 
> 
> i've also been writing this since like the beginning of august and then decided to use the few paragraphs i had once i got inspiration from the evermore event so thank y'all for kicking my ass into gear about this fic.
> 
> also a quick shoutout to @[conceptofpeaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofpeaches/pseuds/conceptofpeaches) on here and @[proof-of-peaches](https://proof-of-peaches.tumblr.com/) on tumblr bc aside from being a great boyfriend we also yell about queliot like every day and have yelled about this scenario before so i'm sure some of this came from his brain too.
> 
> and a shoutout to @kingquentin both on [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingquentin/pseuds/kingquentin) and on [tumblr](https://kingquentin.tumblr.com/) for cheerleading me through this fic since i started it in august and encouraged me to join the evermore event with her. love u corn tea.
> 
> let me know if you notice any mistakes, i rarely get people to beta my fics and i do minimal editing bc i feel fear but point anything out and i'll fix it lmao.
> 
> anyways you can find me on tumblr @[kadywicker](https://kadywicker.tumblr.com/) where i continue to scream about a dead show.


End file.
